


Two Thousand Three Hundred and Forty-Eight

by glimmerglanger



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Off Screen Minor Character Death, canon AU, pre -battle of coruscant, ship wreck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: “What do you mean by leaving?” Obi-Wan asked, looking up from the last grave, the one they’d just got done filling with their bare hands. The soil was heavy and caked over the blisters worn into his palms, caught under his nails, torn now and ragged. The ground had been frozen and didn’t want to give. He looked over at Anakin, feeling exhausted, beyond exhausted, from the cruel labor of the last few days.“I mean going somewhere not here,” Anakin said, not looking at Obi-Wan. His jaw was clenched beneath the stubble growing across his skin. His face was smeared with dirt, his hair matted down by blood and sweat.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 39
Kudos: 445





	Two Thousand Three Hundred and Forty-Eight

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【授权翻译】Two Thousand Three Hundred and Forty-Eight/两千三百四十八](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231160) by [folhaseca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/folhaseca/pseuds/folhaseca), [Suckbackintime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suckbackintime/pseuds/Suckbackintime)



> I wrote this for a prompt meme on tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glimmerglanger). Posting here because I try to remember.

“What do you mean by leaving?” Obi-Wan asked, looking up from the last grave, the one they’d just got done filling with their bare hands. The soil was heavy and caked over the blisters worn into his palms, caught under his nails, torn now and ragged. The ground had been frozen and didn’t want to give. He looked over at Anakin, feeling exhausted, beyond exhausted, from the cruel labor of the last few days.

“I mean going somewhere not here,” Anakin said, not looking at Obi-Wan. His jaw was clenched beneath the stubble growing across his skin. His face was smeared with dirt, his hair matted down by blood and sweat.

Obi-Wan stared at him. Exhaustion and pain were making his thoughts slow. His ribs ached so fiercely. They had since the crash. He’d been ignoring them. There’d be so much else to do… The injured to tend to, to keep comfortable, until they finally lost the fight to keep them alive. The dead to bury, out here in this hard, frozen earth….

“Where?” Obi-Wan asked, pushing slowly to his feet, wincing and curling an arm across his ribs. There was no one to put on a brave face for, just Anakin, and he looked like he was hurting just as much.

They were the only survivors left from the wreck. Cody they’d lost the night before. The others…

Well. Obi-Wan looked over the row of neat graves and felt something inside his chest aching that had nothing to do with his ribs.

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “There’s got to be some way off of this rock. I’m going to find it.”

“There’s nothing on ‘this rock,’” Obi-Wan said, limping back towards the remains of their ship. It had sheared in half on the way down. They’d made a crude shelter out of what was left, more a lean-to than anything. R2, badly damaged, warbled at him as he approached. “We saw that much before we crashed.”

“So, what,” Anakin said, a snap in his voice, “we should just sit here, then, that’s your plan?”

“When you’re lost, you wait where someone will find you,” Obi-Wan said, sinking slowly down onto the area of ground that he’d claimed as his bed. He hadn’t slept, really, since the crash four days ago. There hadn’t been time. “If we go off into the woods, no one will know where we are when the rescue ship comes.”

“And if we stay here, a rescue ship may never come. There’s a whole planet out there, Obi-Wan. There’s got to be technology somewhere. I’m going to go find it.” He looked at Obi-Wan, briefly, and then away once more.

Obi-Wan winced, gingerly stretching out his legs. “Anakin, there’s nothing out there. We need to--”

“Stay here, then,” Anakin snapped, turning on his heel, radiating hurt and anger and a hundred other emotions. “I’ll come back and find you when I’ve found a way to get us off of this kriffing rock.”

Obi-Wan called after him, but Anakin didn’t turn back, didn’t even hesitate. And Obi-Wan could have ran after him. Might have, once. But he was so tired. So very tired and hurt inside, and he was right, anyway.

Someone had to stay with the ship, for when rescue came.

“It’s just you and I now, R2,” he said, and the droid warbled back at him, going staticy halfway through.

#

Rescue didn’t come. And it didn’t come. And it didn’t come.

Obi-Wan kept busy, waiting for it. He drove off the scavengers that tried to disturb the graves and did his best to patch up the still functioning systems in their ship. He’d never had any skill with mechanics, but R2 helped. Obi-Wan carried the damaged droid into the remains of the cockpit every day, plugging it in as it requested, listening to it speak a language he didn’t understand.

Between the two of them, they managed to set up something that Obi-Wan believed would serve as a distress beacon. He had no idea how long the power source would last, but surely they’d be rescued before the cell could run down.

Surely they would.

While he waited, he researched the surrounding world. He had little choice. They’d lost most of their supplies in the crash and starvation held little appeal. They’d landed in a temperate area, at least, with a variety of plant growth and even some animals, returning as the winter began to fade.

He tested different plants, eating them sparingly, trying to determine which ones were edible. Some things he ate left him ill, vomiting over and over, until there was nothing left inside him to come up and still he could not stop. He considered, seriously, that he might die from eating a poisonous plant, all alone, and laughed hoarsely.

He carefully noted the plants that made him ill, when he recovered, and avoided them in the future.

The days he marked on the inside of the ship, drawing a little hatch mark for each sunrise that he lived to see. He shivered on the day he finished a row of a hundred, looking into the cockpit, at the blinking light of their rescue beacon.

Someone had to come for them.

Sooner or later.

#

When Anakin came back, there were almost two-hundred hatch marks on the inside of the ship. Obi-Wan felt him coming; he’d felt Anakin’s increasing exhaustion and despair no matter how far Anakin wandered across the planet’s surface.

Obi-Wan stared at the ceiling, feeling Anakin drawing closer. He’d made changes, over the weeks and months, cut down trees and dug out rocks, building a proper shelter onto the ship. It had given him something to do, and it kept the animal life away while he slept.

He sat up, anticipation and worry mingling in his head. R2 had stopped working almost a month ago, going quiet in Obi-Wan’s arms as he held the droid close and felt his vision go blurry, sure he was going mad for the heartbreak in his chest.

Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand over his face and rose, moving to open the door.

Anakin stood on the far side of the area Obi-Wan thought of as  _ theirs _ . The area he’d carved out. He’d plowed up the ground around the shelter and planted seeds from the plants that didn’t make him ill. He’d laughed, his hands dirty and his back aching, thinking of the AgriCorps and another life that he might have had.

He’d thought the plants wouldn’t live, but they sprouted, growing towards the sun, healthy and strong.

Anakin wasn’t looking at the plants. He wasn’t looking at the shelter. He stared dead at Obi-Wan, radiating sadness and defeat so sharply that it drew Obi-Wan a step forward. Anakin looked terrible, his eyes dull and his cheeks sunken under a ragged beard. His clothes hung off of his frame, torn and stained.

Obi-Wan took another step towards him, reaching out, calling, “Anakin,” with a cracking voice. He had not spoken out loud since R2 stopped functioning.

Anakin made a gutted sound at his voice, moving all at once. He seemed to fall into motion, to fall down the path, to fall into Obi-Wan, drawing him close, hugging him so tightly that it hurt. Anakin breathed unsteadily against the side of his head, his fingers clenching and unclenching in Obi-Wan’s shirt, shaking.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, his voice a rough croak, “Obi-Wan.”

“Sh,” Obi-Wan said, holding him. It had been almost two hundred days since he saw another person. He rocked Anakin back and forth, the way he’d used to do, when Anakin was so much smaller than him. “It’s alright,” he said, curling a hand around the back of Anakin’s neck, “it’s alright, you’re back.”

#

“There’s nothing out there,” Anakin told him, later, sitting slumped at the small table that Obi-Wan had crafted. He had made it large enough for two people, hoping. Anakin held one of the few cups that had survived the wreck. He’d already had two cups full of something like soup. He looked too thin by far.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, and was. He had hoped, as the days passed, that Anakin would find something out on his journey. He’d known it was unlikely, probably impossible, but he’d hoped. 

“There hasn’t been a rescue ship?” Anakin asked, his eyes following Obi-Wan each time he moved. He was otherwise still, so very, very still. 

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan said, holding onto the hope that there would be one. Someone would come for them, sooner or later. It made no sense that they’d been left so long. Surely their disappearance had been  _ noticed _ . They’d been on their way to rescue Coruscant, for the Force’s sake…

Unless, Obi-Wan considered, turning away from Anakin’s piercing gaze, things had gone poorly with the war. Unless there was no one else to look for them. He swallowed. “Eat the rest of your soup,” he said. “And then, well, there’s a spring not far from here. If you want to get cleaned up.”

#

Anakin didn’t seem to care one way or another about getting cleaned up, but he let Obi-Wan shepherd him down the path and into the water. There was blood and filth dried to his skin. HIs ribs showed through his skin and the knobs of his spine pressed out, terribly.

He climbed into the water after a moment’s hesitation, and made a soft, hurt sound. Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. “Anakin?”

“It’s warm,” Anakin said, sounding wondering, confused. He looked back at Obi-Wan, expression open and shocked, as though he’d been unaware of the heat in the air, the sun beating down over them.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, crooking a smile at him, and took his clothes to the side of the pool, kneeling and scrubbing at them.

#

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said, when night fell. He’d eaten all the food Obi-Wan felt he could spare, and half of Obi-Wan’s rations for the day. He hadn’t seemed to notice Obi-Wan slipping them over. They were alone in the dark of the shelter. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started, rolling to face him in the dark, “it’s--”

“I never should have left,” Anakin said, all in a rush, as though he’d been waiting for the darkness to speak. “You were right. And I missed you, so much. I thought I’d die out there, and never see another person again, and--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out to touch his hand. “I under--”

Anakin moved fast, always had. He shifted across the distance between their bedrolls, curled close all at once. He was shaking again, grip too tight around Obi-Wan, so tight it was difficult to breathe, a trembling in his limbs.

“You’re going to be here when I wake up,” Anakin said, like a question, like a plea, like maybe he’d imagined Obi-Wan there in the night before.

“I’m going to be right here,” Obi-Wan said, carefully covering one of Anakin’s hands with his. He might have protested, but he had been alone for so long, as well. It felt good to be held, even so tightly, to be sure that someone else was there, that Anakin would be there when he woke up.

“Good,” Anakin said, voice ragged. “That’s good.”

#

“How’d you do all this?” Anakin asked, the next day. He was standing too close, really, and kept stretching a hand out, like he intended to grab Obi-Wan’s arm. He’d gazed around the shelter and the garden with an incredulous look.

“I had time,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging, a bitter smile touching his mouth. “Do you know, I might have been a farmer once? I almost got sent to the AgriCorps.”

Anakin blinked at him and said, “No.”

“Oh, yes.” Obi-Wan laughed, just a little, shaking his head. “Of course, I decided I’d run away before doing that and nearly got killed and Master Qui-Gon agreed to take me as Padawan, but…” He gestured at the gardens. “Apparently, I would have been quite good at the work.”

Anakin stared at him, quiet for too long, and then looked away hurriedly. He said, “How have you been keeping your beard trimmed?”

Obi-Wan froze, pain slicing down through his chest. It never went away, most days he was just better at living with it. But a stray thought brought everything back. He cleared his throat, looking to the side. “Cody… had a razor. I’ve been using that.”

Anakin reached out, fingertips brushing the back of Obi-Wan’s hand, comfort in the touch. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. He said, to move past the weight in his chest, “Would you like me to give you a shave?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Anakin said, and sat very still when Obi-Wan took him back to the stream and gestured at a rock that was about the right height to serve as a chair. Anakin watched him, eyes sharp and bright, as he carefully worked the razor over skin, taking off months of tangled and matted growth.

Anakin’s face was familiar, underneath, but thinner, all his sharp angles made sharper.

“There,” Obi-Wan said, dragging a thumb over Anakin’s cheek without thinking, seeing the familiar face he’d missed so much. “Much better.”

Anakin swallowed, loudly enough that Obi-Wan heard him, and said, “Thank you.” He leaned into Obi-Wan’s touch, and neither of them moved for a long moment, not until Anakin said, “I could trim your hair, too. You’re looking pretty scruffy.”

Obi-Wan snorted, reaching up to tug at his hair. He’d kept the beard trimmed, but abandoned all attempts to keep his hair in order months ago. And the thought of having an excuse to sit out in the sun, to feel fingers through his hair, was too nice to pass up. “I’d appreciate that,” he said, and they swapped positions, Anakin leaning over, carefully lifting hair, the sound of the razor and their breathing mingling with burbling water and the distant sounds of birds.

#

When there were 368 hatch marks on the wall, Obi-Wan rose early, ignoring Anakin’s murmured protests. The weather had grown cold, since Anakin returned. Sleeping close together allowed them to share body heat, chasing away some of the aches in Obi-Wan’s body from old broken bones.

He washed his face in the basin by the door and combed his hair with his fingers, tugging on his robe for the first time in months. He walked down the path to the graves in silence and stood in front of them, remembering the name of each man, watching his breath steam in the frozen morning air.

He turned, slightly, when he felt Anakin coming down the path. Anakin didn’t visit the graves as often as Obi-Wan did. Obi-Wan didn’t begrudge it. They had been his men, not Anakin’s. It was Obi-Wan’s job to remember them.

He glanced at Anakin, grateful for his presence, only for the cold in his chest to spread as he saw Anakin’s expression. He was staring at nothing, blank-faced, his hands tucked into his robes. Obi-Wan blinked at him as snow swirled around them both, the first flakes landing on the ground.

Anakin came to a stop at his side and said, quietly, “I was married.”

Obi-Wan blinked, taken so off-guard that for a moment he couldn’t think of a thing to say. He managed, finally, “What?”

“To Senator Amidala,” Anakin continued, still staring forward at nothing. Obi-Wan felt his mouth hanging open and could do nothing to stop it. “She died,” Anakin said, agony radiating out of him, fast and sudden. “The day I left. I felt it and - and that’s why I - I had to just - I --” He trailed off, breathing shakily, covering his face with one hand.

Obi-Wan stared, trying to make the pieces of the world make sense again. He felt snow melting into his hair, felt the cold eating at him by the time Anakin finally said, “Are you going to say anything?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Obi-Wan admitted, and barked out a laugh. He was trying to mourn his men. He was trying to -- of all days -- He dragged a hand back through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anakin grimaced. “You’d have told the Council,” he said, voice cracking. “I would have had to leave the Order, and--”

“Why  _ didn’t  _ you leave the Order?” Obi-Wan interrupted, because nothing in the world made sense. Everything he’d thought he knew had tilted sideways. Anakin had been  _ married _ . Married to Padmé, who had never said a word, both of them keeping this secret. “If you wanted to - to be married, why didn’t you just  _ leave _ ?”

Anakin was quiet, for a long moment, his expression blank as he stared out at nothing. He said, voice cracking, “I - I don’t know, anymore. I thought I had reasons. Good reasons. But…” He shook his head. “I should have left.”

Obi-Wan imagined a war without Anakin at his side. It would probably have been much shorter. But… He swallowed, pain digging deeper into his chest, taking a step back. “So you lied to me. For how long, Anakin?”

Anakin grimaced, closing his eyes. “Since - you remember, I went back to Naboo with Padmé. After Geonosis, we--”

Obi-Wan turned on his heel, the weight of almost five years of lies pressing down on him like the weight of the world. He walked, numb, back towards their shelter, his mind terrible and empty inside. Almost five years. A year with just the two of them on this world.

And over all of that time, lies.

#

A few days passed in silence. Obi-Wan made his marks, went through his routines, practiced katas. Meditated. He didn’t speak, and neither did Anakin, moving around him like a ghost. He thought perhaps Anakin would leave again, but he remained, though he did not curl close at night.

Obi-Wan laid awake, shivering, thinking about lies.

On the third day, he washed his face, turned to Anakin, and said, “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“I know.” Anakin leaned his back against the wall of the shelter, expression miserable. “I’m sorry, for whatever it’s worth.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. He’d been angry, briefly, but mostly hurt. Hurt held onto would do nothing. He had to let it go, move on. He’d always believed so, and that hadn’t changed. He rubbed a hand over his face. Besides, Anakin might be the only human face he ever saw again, though he still held out hope for their beacon.

It would be foolish to let this destroy them. “Alright,” he said, because what more could he ask than an apology? Anakin couldn’t undo what he’d done. He shifted, discomfort climbing up his spine, and said, softly, “I am sorry. That you… lost her.”

Anakin flinched, chin dipping down and to the side. Obi-Wan took a step towards him and another and another, until he could sink down the wall, their shoulders pressed together. “Can you… tell me about her? About you both?”

Anakin swallowed, hard, and nodded. And he spoke of a life Obi-Wan had never known, secrets kept dear and close, until the sun was high in the sky. It wasn’t like they had anywhere pressing to be. And it was cold outside.

#

The day Obi-Wan drew his 512th hatch mark on the wall, the generator powering the emergency beacon failed. Anakin had nursed it along since his return, but the system had been damaged to begin with. “That’s it,” Anakin said, after working on it for most of the day. “She’s shot.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, looking at the dark machinery, feeling cold and hopeless inside. He said, “Someone may have already picked it up.”

“Sure,” Anakin said. He felt oddly at peace, these days. Obi-Wan barely understood it, but there was a contentment in him, strange and deep. They’d both been so tired, both fought so long. Making a life on their planet was not easy, but no one was trying to kill them. 

They slept through the nights, more often than not. They even woke with fewer nightmares, these days. Obi-Wan could only vaguely remember the last one he’d had, the horror of it fading as Anakin had rubbed his back, hand warm across Obi-Wan’s skin, murmuring soothing nonsense to him.

Anakin meditated with him, most days. At first he had begged off, claiming the disinterest he’d always had for the process. But it was one more thing that provided them with some kind of structure as they went about their days, and Obi-Wan grew used to Anakin sitting at his back, both of them breathing slow and deep, reaching out to the Force.

He taught Anakin lightsaber forms he would have shared earlier, had not the war disrupted their training, practicing movements out below the spring sun, working until they were both covered with sweat, his gaze lingering too long on the line of Anakin’s shoulders or the movement of muscles down his back.

That happened more and more frequently, as the days passed. He found himself staring. It was difficult not to, especially as the day’s warmed and Anakin left his shirt behind more often. He said it was only to preserve the fabric as long as possible, for the colder months, and Obi-Wan hummed along agreement, watching his skin go tan and golden.

Obi-Wan avoided so much direct exposure as best he could. The sun only turned him red.

He focused on the freckles rising over his forearms, when they bathed off in the springs, instead of the sound of Anakin moving through the water, swallowing heavily. His own body he found to be increasingly full of wants.

He supposed it was only natural. He’d always loved Anakin. That love had changed shape over time, before. Why shouldn’t it change, again?

#

The morning Obi-Wan made his 716th tally mark, they walked together down to the graves. Anakin put an arm around his shoulders as they stood there, breath steaming in the air before them. Obi-Wan spoke, sometimes, to his men. But it didn’t feel right that day to do anything more than apologize.

He leaned his head against Anakin’s shoulder; they’d gotten thoughtless about touching one another. It just happened, as easy as breathing, and there was comfort in the way Anakin rested his cheek against the side of Obi-Wan’s head and pulled him a little closer.

“I don’t think anyone is coming,” Obi-Wan said, the following day, when he woke up, cocooned in warmth. He’d wept the night before, for his men, for all the loss in the war, for two years of time on this planet, and felt he had no more tears left.

“They might be,” Anakin said. He had his palm pressed flat over Obi-Wan’s chest, over his heart. The shelter was dark around them. Outside the wind howled and roared, bringing with it the first major storm of the winter. “But they’re probably not.”

Obi-Wan nodded, swallowing. “The war must be over, one way or another,” he said, speaking quietly. They never spoke of the war. 

“Do you think Coruscant fell?” Anakin asked, shifting closer as he did, lips moving across Obi-Wan’s shoulder, knees tucking back against his, thumb stroking back and forth across Obi-Wan’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said, shutting his eyes. “Maybe.” Probably, he did not say, because he did not know and that was vanity, anyway, to assume that it must have fallen because they were not there.

“I hope…” Anakin said, and went quiet, his voice hitching. “Do you think Ahsoka…?”

“You trained her well,” Obi-Wan said, because it was the truest comfort he could offer.

Anakin let out a shuddering breath. He had not wept the night before, but did, then, the tears coming all at once, held back for months - for years - as he held Obi-Wan close in the dark. “We trained her well,” he said, through the storm of it. “She’s got to be fine.”

#

There were 923 hatch marks on the wall the day they got caught in a rainstorm while down at the spring. It was a warm rain, winter’s cold grasp on them finally lessened. Obi-Wan looked up at it - the day was almost clear - and laughed as the rain fell down over them in the water. 

Anakin made a little noise - it sounded hurt, to Obi-Wan - and Obi-Wan looked over to find him staring. “What?” he asked, reaching up to touch his face, unsure what was making Anakin’s expression look that way. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Anakin said, his voice strange as he waded closer through the water - it barely came up to his chest. 

“Well, something--”

“You’re beautiful,” Anakin interrupted, close, but Obi-Wan barely registered that closeness anymore. They were always in one another’s space. Anakin took his hand, put his other hand on Obi-Wan’s face, and leaned down. Obi-Wan gasped, surprised, at the brush of his mouth. A kiss.

He had not kissed anyone in such a very long time.

“Anakin,” he said, pulling back, just a little, watching the rain come down on Anakin’s shoulders, listening to the sound of it on the water. “What--”

“We’re going to be here the rest of our lives,” Anakin said, but softly, without any anger, as though he were only stating a fact. He slid his fingers back into Obi-Wan’s hair. “Together.” He leaned closer, brushing another brief kiss across Obi-Wan’s mouth. “So. I think we should really be together.”

Obi-Wan had gotten so used to touching him. To watching him. To wanting him. He’d wanted for so long, now. He swallowed and nodded, cautiously raising a hand to touch Anakin’s chest, his shoulder, his neck.

“Yes,” he said, shifting just slightly onto his toes, enough to kiss Anakin’s mouth again. “Together.”

#

There were 2,348 hatch marks on the walls the night they laid out under the stars, staring upwards. Anakin’s head rested on Obi-Wan’s chest. The air was warm around them, quiet except for the noises of the night animals. The sky was so perfectly clear Obi-Wan could see every star, the ones with names he knew, the ones they’d named themselves.

He stroked Anakin’s hair, absently, removing any tangles from the day with his fingers. Anakin felt heavy with contentment, but not exhaustion. There was a tinge of want in his thoughts, one that Obi-Wan was well familiar with by then. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Anakin shifted against him, pushing closer to kiss his mouth.

But there was no rush. They had all the time in the world.

He stared at the stars and asked, quietly, “Do you still think about leaving?”

Anakin shifted, rolling so his cheek rested over Obi-Wan’s heart. Lit by the stars, he seemed ethereal, other-worldly. His small smile was only just barely visible. “Not really,” Anakin said, and moved, putting a hand by Obi-Wan’s head, leaning down, kissing him under the wide open sky.


End file.
